


One for the books

by andthestorystarts



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (but those guys deserved it the brutes), Homophobia, and obviously they get a bit hurt, but not too bad, characters in fistfights, cute things at end, physical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:44:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthestorystarts/pseuds/andthestorystarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave kisses John(unexpectedly and for the first time) and subsequently panics and absconds<br/>Someone saw, and told the rest of Dave's sports team- who turns out, are itching for a fight(and are homophobic bastards)</p>
<p>and then JohnDave cuteness at the end</p>
            </blockquote>





	One for the books

**Author's Note:**

> i got this idea in my head and felt like writing a little drabble for it so yeah

To be honest, you weren't entirely sure why you did it-  you knew in the back of your mind that it was a bad idea, maybe a mistake, could easily fuck up your entire friendship between you and John-  all you knew was that when he was smiling at you like that, something in your chest had both twisted and loosened at the same time and then you were leaning forward and pressing your mouth to his.

 

After about three seconds of utterly no response at  _all,_  you drew back, catching a glimpse of John's surprised face, shoved your hands in your pockets and absconded as fast as humanly possible.

Neither of you made contact for the rest of that evening, nor did John talk to you the next day, just acted skittish around you, which was more or less what you were expecting from him, him acting a little weird till he found a way to put you down as gently as he could- which is probably what he'd do, he could never be rude to anyone, especially a friend of his.

Which you sort of wondered if you even counted as any more. You know that he'd always be your friend, but maybe you wouldn't always be one of his.

 

 

Practice would help, at least a little bit, you had thought, sports, physical activity to keep you preoccupied, think about how you were too hot or sweaty or about your sore muscles instead of John and the inevitable rejection to come. Then, a new problem arose.

Your teammates had been acting a little weird around you that practice, tackling a little harder than needed, being a little tougher in general. You shrugged it off as them being dicks as per usual. 

 

-

 

Now, as they cluster around you after practice and changing, when your glasses were still in your bag and you were about to head home, surrounding you and blocking any exit, you had the sinking feeling that it was something else.

'So, Strider, I heard that yesterday you were macking face with that Egbert dork.' 

Your expression was blank to begin with, but now it shifted slightly, becoming dangerously so.  
'Even if I was, I don't see why it'd be any of your business.'   
The second biggest guy, to the left of the one that had spoken before, gave a laugh and said, 'You're part of the team, so that makes it our business.'   
Yet another added, 'And we can't have a fag on our team- not at least without giving him a,' he cracked his knuckles, crooked smile going across his face, 'lesson.'

Well. You really don't think you can be bothered making up an excuse, a reason, or even just saying that you hadn't- and plus, even though you basically don't have a snowballs chance of winning against these numbers, you really  _really_  wanted to bash their faces in because of the way the guy had sneered the word fag and the rest of them had nodded along and grinned.

 

You shift your bag, making it look like you're simply moving your weight on to your other foot, and say, 'What, are you afraid that I'll take a look at your cocks or something? Sorry, not interested in people who have most of their dick in their personalities.' 

As their expressions changed slightly, as if trying to figure out whether or not you had just insulted them, you bring your arm around, and the bag that held your dirty shoes and sweaty clothes and the helmet, collided with the face of the guy who had uttered 'fag'.  
In the second where he was stumbling back, hand to his nose, you were deciding whether or not to drop the bag as it might block your view or get in the way or if it could be useful, the rest of them came at you.  
Short version: one on one, you could take any of the fuckers with a hand tied behind your back. But Bro's lessons didn't really prepare you for an unfair fight of a whole bunch of guys on one. But you did your best.

 

The bag did soften some of the blows, and at some point you smash it into someone and swear you heard the sound of the helmet cracking and breaking- but oh well. Bad news, it also occasionally blocked your view of something incoming.

Which is how you got the first punch to the face, after swinging it at one of them, then the bag coming back down and oh fuck there was another one and you had no time to react and then there was a blossoming pain in your cheek and back you went, a hand going up to check for a second as the rest of the team hung back for a second, savouring it. You can taste blood in your mouth, just a little of it, and you give a bit of a smile. 'What, that all you got? You hit like a bunch of infants.'

  
That... wasn't such a good tactic. 

 

They came in again, and although you kick out, punch and a couple of times, bite, you seem to get double or even triple the amount of blows than the ones you land. You can feel them on your shins and your torso, a couple on your face, which were the ones that set you back the most so far. They make you disorientated, for at least a few seconds, which gave them time to continue coming. 

You lose track of when, but at some point, right after you've just slammed an elbow into someones face, there's yelling('Hey, hey!'), which pauses the fight for a moment, everyone turning to see who was interrupting.   
You use the time to catch your breath, do a quick catalogue of injuries(nothing serious, can still keep going), and then it clicks as the person starts coming toward the group that it's John.

Oh fuck.

 

'Dave?'  
You want to not say anything, pretend it's not you so that he'd go away. But you know John, that he can't leave anyone alone when they're being hurt, even more so if it was someone he personally knew.   
Clear throat. 'Hey, John.' It comes out a little weak, and you're hoping that he just goes away, that the jocks would only subject you to this.

A hope in vain, since, as you expect, he started coming over, and the group starts making these mocking jeers. 

'Oh Strider, your boyfriend's come to your rescue.'   
John's expression changes a little.  
'Don't worry Egbert we haven't hurt his dick but you might want to be careful of his ass when you're fucking, don't want to-'  
You full well knew they said more than that, but the words blurred together in an angry pulse and you're slamming your shoulder into the one nearest you, and hooking a leg around his so he falls,  _smack_ , into the cement.

 

Then there was movement everywhere again, this time with John in the fray, who definitely got bloodier. 

 

It was hard to say who won the skirmish, since both sides ended up bleeding (you and John more, understandably, but the others still a fair bit), and the jocks eventually step back while John was helping you up, and said something that you didn't quite pay attention to, something about 'that being enough for today.'

 

So they left, and when they were out of sight, you slump back against the wall, slipping down so you can sit. You let out a really long breath, and John sits down beside you. You can see him, and are glad that he didn't sit on your other side, since that eye is beginning to swell shut. You grab your water bottle out of your bag and press it lightly against said eye. You are aching all over(expecting John to feel much the same), but nothing seemed to be broken or bleeding too much, which was good. And John's glasses were miraculously unbroken.

The both of you just sat there for a while, before John ventured quietly, 'Why were they saying what they were when I came in?'

You flap a hand, 'Don't worry about it.'  
'Dude they were beating you up,  _why?_ '  
Your fingers itch to put on your glasses, to block out some of something, to make the situation more bearable.   
Eventually, after wiping some of the blood from your mouth on to your sleeve, you say, with your eyes shut and head leaning back against the wall, 'Some sonuvabitch saw me kissing you yesterday, and blabbed.' A one-sided shrug with the shoulder that doesn't feel like you've been hanging from it, 'The rest of the team doesn't seem to like dudes who like dudes.' You click your tongue in irritation, then mumble, 'or "fags", as he put it.' 

Neither of you had happy fluffy feelings towards the word, and you know that.

'Anyway, yeah they were being assholes about it and thats about the whole story.'

John was quiet for a short time, before; 'So you got beat up because you kissed me- which you did cause you.. like me?' The last part was said hesitantly, as if he wasn't particularly sure. Your eyes flick open, and automatically go over to him.

He's looking out of the corner of his eyes at you, and you can see at least one bruise starting to develop on his cheekbone, and you suddenly wish he was sitting on your other side so you had an excuse not to look at him, see his reactions.

A blink, then an equally hesitant, 'Well, yeah man, that should be pretty damn obvious by now.' Your free hand shifted through the back of your hair, a bit of a nervous tic. You'd once somehow had a chat about their views on kissing, and they both said that it wasn't really something to do lightly, that you had to have some feeling toward the person- they'd had a little laugh about how they thought a little like girls in that sentimental way then moved on to another topic. So, by following that train of thought, for you, it was pretty obvious. That and the fact that you'd never play a stupid a prank as that. 

 

John gave a little hum, distracted, in the way that you knew he tended to do when he was thinking, then stood up, and offered you a hand. Accepting, you took it, the other hand with the water bottle coming down to your side as he hoists you up(with only a little wince from each party), and right as your have your feet underneath you, and are starting to let go of his hand, absently thinking about what Dirk will say, John kisses you.

 

It's there and gone before you can do anything, and you blink, once, twice, a third time. 

'What,' is about all you can manage, half a question and the other half just what.

John grins, split lip and bruises and all, and, sounding a little cheeky, says, 'You caught me off guard with your one yesterday, I thought it was only fair to do the same with mine.'

As you are busy just mentally going 'what' in surprise, he continues with '-and if you had waited a little while longer before absconding, I would have kissed you back, you know.'

He looks a bit nervous, but nothing like his skittishness earlier in the day, as if he'd now made up his mind about something.

Always with the most unfortunate timing, your brain seems to have shut down. 'I-you-what.'

 

'It may've been one of the knocks to the head, but I seem to have driven the mighty Dave Strider speechless.' His eyes were crinkling at the corners slightly.   
'A little bit, yeah- can you just, run over it again, in like, words less than three syllables?'  
John almost seemed amused at your utter inability to comprehend what had happened/was currently happening. Later you'd blame the fight, and he'd just give you a fond look.  
'You, as you've stated just before, like me. And I, Dave,' he was looking straight in your eyes and you almost felt like you were about to split out of your skin, 'like you. 'Tis an absolute mystery what will happen from now on.'

 

He went and grabbed your bag from its spot on the ground, and caught you glancing at his spare hand.   
Shifting the bag from one hand to the other, John wavers for a second, and you, after a pause, weave your fingers through his. When he smiles, you try (and fail) to contain one of your own by biting your lip, which leads you to taste blood again, and you guess that you have a split lip too, which isn't that surprising, considering.

 

'C'mon, we should probably go get looked at by Dad, otherwise half our faces might be black at school tomorrow, and that'll be interesting to explain to the group.'  
'Makes one hell of a getting-together story, huh?'  
The two of you are smiling, even though you both feel like used punching bags. 

 

'Definitely one for the books.'

**Author's Note:**

> do you have any idea how much i wanted to punch those fucking bastards bash em over the head with a firepoker  
> also its currently two in the morning so aahahahahahahahaaa that summary is not the best thing so im expecting like maybe two hits on this thing but anyway yeah  
> first time i've ever written a fight scene! sorta proud of it  
> and i dunno how wounds work im guessing and not going into specifics for those ones  
> yeaaaaa
> 
> cuties


End file.
